


Faithless and Faithful

by iesika



Category: DCU - Comicverse, Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bad Sex, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Robin: Unmasked, School Shootings, Tim doesn't handle death very well, war games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iesika/pseuds/iesika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grief makes people act a little funny, sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faithless and Faithful

Witch-hazel, store-brand facial cleanser, red toothbrush with the funny rubber bristle thingies, mouthwash, dental floss… The most interesting thing in Tim’s bathroom cabinet was the whitening toothpaste, and that only because Bernard had always suspected there was chemical enhancement behind that smugly perfect smile.

The lack of interest _was_ in itself kind of interesting, in the way that Timothy Drake was _always_ interesting. There weren’t even any pills in the damned thing, but maybe all the medicine was kept in Tim’s parents’ room? And okay, the lack of condoms and stuff made sense now that he was thinking about Tim’s _parents_. Tim was pretty sneaky. His stuff would be better hidden than that.

Bernard shut the cabinet and wiped the mirror with his towel. His hair was limp and stringy from the shower, but he was _not_ using Tim’s industrial strength product on _his_ baby-fine locks, thank you very much. At least he didn’t stink like smoke anymore. His skin was still flushed. Tim’s water heater was _fantastic_ , because Bernard had been in there _forever_ just enjoying the water pressure, and there’d been no sign of the water cooling down.

Maybe there would be something interesting in one of the drawers? Bernard slid open the top one. Fingernail clippers, hairbrush, something in a glass jar that looked like hand lotion, which really didn’t square with just how chapped and calloused Tim’s hands actually were. Vicente Bruno cologne, but Bernard had known _that_ from the day he’d met the boy. Tweezers. Timmy _tweezed_?

The next drawer down was a lot more interesting… rolls of gauze, sterile pads, ace bandages, a bunch of unmarked squeeze-bottles, and a whole sack of those glass jars like the hand cream, all with different contents... and what looked like a sewing kit in a plastic case, with thick, dark thread and -- Bernard dropped the box -- long, curved needles.

“Looking for something in particular?” Tim asked from behind him. Bernard jumped guiltily and slammed the drawer. “Hair dryer!” he said. God _damn_ Tim and his sneaky cat feet. Bernard hadn’t even heard the door open. He clutched the waist of his borrowed pants. Tim always made him feel like a scarecrow. His jeans barely clung to Bernard’s hips.

“Don’t have one,” Tim said, “one of the many benefits of short hair. What are you doing here?”

“Our apartment--” Bernard started, before he caught sight of Tim in the mirror and whipped around. “What the hell happened to you?” he shouted.

Tim was standing in the doorway in just a pair of boxer-briefs, and the massive first-aid kit suddenly made sense, because he was _torn_ to _shit_.

“I’ve had a rough night,” Tim said, and sighed.

Rough night didn’t begin to-- The boy was _covered_ in bruises, and old scars, and streaked with blood and dirt and soot and Bernard didn’t even want to guess. There was a cut on Tim’s forehead that had scabbed over, and a gash on his arm that was still sluggishly oozing blood.

“Bernard,” Tim said, “please let me into the bathroom before Dana comes to see what you’re shouting about.”

Bernard hitched himself up onto the counter, cross-legged. Tim looked at him for a second, then stepped forward and shut the door behind him before walking straight into the bathtub without a word and pulling the curtain shut. A moment later, Tim’s shorts came over the top of it and landed at Bernard’s feet.

Bernard stared at the shorts, and didn’t think about much more than how good they had looked on Tim’s ass -- and the fact that they _weren’t_ currently on Tim’s ass, which meant that Tim was _naked_.

The water started.

“What are you doing here?” Tim repeated after a few minutes. His voice was oddly flat and tired. Then again, he had been out all night, on the worst night in Gotham since the damned _quake_. The gangs _and_ the police had been shooting at anything that _moved_.

Bernard cleared his suddenly tight throat. “There was a fire. Our building caught. My mom and I ended up at that clinic down on Park where Dana was volunteering because the ambulance couldn’t get to an actual hospital, what with all the fighting. Dana said I should come here, once she was okay. They took her to the general this morning. Dana, ah, didn’t think you’d mind me sleeping over?” And okay, Bernard really hadn’t meant that to come out as a question.

“Is your mother okay?” Tim asked.

“Yeah, she got a little too much smoke is all.”

“Hm,” Tim said. Bernard wished he sounded a little _happier_ about it. “And your apartment?”

“Don’t really know. All my stuff is probably ruined, though, between the smoke and the hoses.” Bernard sighed. “All my clothes… These are your pants, by the way.”

Tim didn’t respond.

“Dana gave them to me. Please tell me how your jeans can be too big for me _and_ too short?”

“You’re skinny.”

“Blasphemy,” Bernard said. “I am _lithe_.”

“Right,” Tim said. “Okay. Look, Bernard, this really isn’t a good -- what are you doing?”

Bernard dropped the medical tape he’d dug out of the drawer, but he managed to catch it before it rolled off the counter. “Nothing!” he called back, cheerfully.

“You should go to bed,” Tim suggested. Only it sounded more like an order.

“Can I sleep with you?” Bernard asked, and then immediately slapped a hand over his mouth.

The room was silent except for the sound of water hitting tile. “You can have the bed,” Tim finally said. “I’ll--“

“No!” Bernard interrupted. “I don’t want to put you out.”

“Whatever. Just-- “ The water shut off. Tim’s hand emerged, groping for the towel rack then disappeared once it had its prize. “I’m not really in the mood for company, Bernard. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“Okay,” Bernard said, “I’ll leave you alone.”

Tim pulled the curtain back and stepped out of the bath, towel tied around his waist, holding a rag over the cut on his arm, which seemed to be bleeding again. Even black and blue the boy was gorgeous.

“After I make sure you’re taken care of.”

Tim stared at him through his dripping hair. “What?”

Bernard slid off the counter and gestured at the pile of supplies he’d gathered.

“Bernard, there is nothing wrong with me that I can’t handle, myself.”

“The hell there isn’t. Come here.”

“And then you’ll leave me alone?”

“And then I’ll leave you alone. I won’t even tell your lovely parents that someone tried to tenderize you.”

Tim sighed and shook his head, but he came to stand beside Bernard in front of the sink. "My dad knows. Sort of. Just...don’t say anything to Dana, okay?”

“Of course,” Bernard said, rubbing his hands together, “Now! tell me what the hell is in these bottles so I can--“ He froze when Tim shouldered him out of the way and bent to open the first aid drawer. He had a brief, giddy moment of hope that Tim would loose the towel, but when he checked the knot it looked like something tied by a boy scout. A _gay porn_ boy scout.

Tim stood back up with a bottle and a jar. “Watch,” he said, and pulled the cloth away from his arm. The gash was deeper than Bernard had realized. It made his stomach turn a little.

“I think you need stitches,” he said.

“No,” Tim said. He leaned out over the sink. Bernard was momentarily distracted again by Tim-bending-over-in-a-towel, but managed to drag his gaze up to watch as Tim doused the cut with something pale green from the squirt-bottle. The liquid foamed slightly on contact. The bleeding slowed, then stopped.

“Huh,” Bernard said.

Tim dried the area with gauze and taped the cut shut with some of those little butterfly things. He placed a fresh gauze pad over the wound and handed Bernard a roll of tape and a pair of scissors.

This part didn’t need a demo, Bernard guessed. Or maybe Tim thought it was too simple for even him to screw it up. “I do actually know what I’m doing,” Bernard said. He taped up the cut as efficiently as he could, just to prove it. “I go out on digs with Mom in the summer, sometimes. You wouldn’t believe how much trouble she gets herself into.”

“You’d be surprised what I’d be willing to believe,” Tim said. He was dry as a bone, but Bernard had learned to read the humor in his eyes.

When the bandage was secure, Bernard soaked a cotton ball in the green stuff and pushed Tim back until he sat down on the counter. He tilted Tim’s face up and held it steady with a hand on his check. “Does this stuff sting?”

“A little,” Tim said. His eyes were tracking rapidly over Bernard’s face.

The cut was really more like a scrape. “You must not have hit your head very hard. There’s no swelling.”

Pained humor flashed through Tim’s eyes, then, like Bernard had made a bad joke.

Bernard had really thought the baggy pants would be enough to hide his slight erection. “Close your eyes,” he ordered, so that Tim wouldn’t see him blush.

Tim did as he was told -- which was kind of a turn on, right there. Bernard dabbed lightly at the scrape until it stopped foaming. He tilted Tim’s face, with his fingers on either side of Tim’s jaw, and blew gently across the scrape.

Tim’s lips parted and he made a little sound. There was a faint pink to his cheeks that Bernard didn’t think was from the shower. Bernard couldn’t help himself; he looked down. The joke hadn’t been about _him_ after all. Tim was getting hard. _Tim_ was --

\--was looking at him seriously and handing him a jar. “For the bruises,” he said. Then, self-consciously, “I really _can_ do it myself.”

Bernard would have fought rabid bears for an excuse to touch all that scarred skin, and here Tim was, literally _handing_ him one. God, fuck yes. Tim knew what he was doing. He _had_ to. Tim wanted it, too, and that was--

Bernard took the jar and dipped his fingers into the thick white cream. He rubbed it gently into a bruise on Tim’s shoulder, which seemed like a safe place to start.

“Harder,” Tim said, and then shut his mouth so quickly that Bernard heard his teeth click.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can take it. I mean-- “

Bernard smirked, but firmed his touch. “You mean...”

“I mean,” Tim shook his head and tried again. “The point is to break up the blood under the skin. Don’t worry about hurting me.”

“Hmm…” Bernard said. “If you want it rough...” He turned the touch into a massage. “How’s that?”

“I -- perfect,” Tim said. His eyes slid closed.

Usually, when Bernard teased him, Tim gave back as good as he got. The fact that he _wasn’t_ playing along probably would have clued Bernard in, even without the obvious erection Tim was now sporting. Tim was _different_ tonight, stranger even then usual.

He’d been strange at school the day before, too. Strange and kind of hot, the way he’d just sort of taken charge, even telling the teachers and the nurse what to do. He’d seemed… Taller. Larger, somehow, even though Bernard had known he was fit from the first day. His voice had been different. His eyes had been different. And then, after school, he’d vanished, and Dana hadn’t known where he was, and Tim’s dad had been really weird the whole time they were at the clinic and wouldn’t talk about him at all. And he showed up hours later, battered and exhausted and strange, and explained it all away as a ‘rough night.’

Bernard thought about all this as he carefully massaged the cream into all the bruises he could find. Most of them were on Tim’s arms, but there were a few on his chest and abdomen, and one on his back that Bernard had to lean in very close to massage properly. He didn’t realize how ragged his own breathing was getting until he felt Tim’s against his ear. Bernard pulled back and let his fingers follow a thin, white scar across Tim’s pectoral until they brushed a nipple.

Tim gasped and grabbed Bernard’s wrist, eyes open wide and dark. Very dark. “Bernard,” he started, “this really isn’t a good – “

Oh not _now!_ Bernard rolled his eyes. “I know, I know, you’re one hundred percent heterosexual. But – “ He circled Tim’s nipple with the pad of his thumb, then scraped across it with the edge of his nail. Tim’s cock jumped under the towel, and he swallowed hard. Bernard suddenly couldn’t stop staring at his throat. “We’re all friends here, right Drake? And you look like you’re in,” it was Bernard’s turn to swallow, mouth suddenly dry. “Considerable distress.”

When Tim didn’t argue, Bernard stepped further into his space. He leaned on the counter with one hand and gave Tim’s nipple a tweak with the other before reaching down to toy with the edge of the towel.

“You really should let me help you out with that.” He gave the towel a little tug. Tim didn’t move to stop him, so he slid his hand up Tim’s thigh until it was hidden under the cloth.

Tim let him. He even – Bernard was making a mess of his borrowed pants – let his legs fall open a little more.

“It’s like first aid,” Bernard continued, “maybe a doctor would be better, but sometimes you just have to go with the first responder.” Bernard grinned at his own metaphor and ducked his head, angling for a kiss. “After all,” he murmured, close enough to Tim’s lips to feel his breath, “I’m right here. Your imaginary girlfriend, on the other hand-- “

Bernard never finished the sentence. Before he could figure out what the hell was happening, he was slammed, _hard_ , against the bathroom door. His head thumped back against the wood, and he had just enough time to register that Tim looked _really fucking pissed_ before he was being kissed to within an inch of his life.

Bernard had spent a pretty embarrassing amount of time wondering what exactly it would be like to kiss Timothy Drake - and of course he’d thought it would be pretty intense, because _Tim_ was pretty intense, in his quiet and slightly odd way -- but he’d never imagined it would be like _this_.

Well, okay, that one time…

Tim was rough. Desperate. Violent, even. He had Bernard pinned, hands like steel claws gripping his biceps and shoving him against the door. He was really getting his teeth into it, too, biting hard at Bernard’s mouth. Bernard struggled feebly for all of two seconds, until he realized what was happening, and then his body went limp - most of his body, anyway. Certain parts were anything _but_ limp at the moment.

His hands, for example, were really kind of failing to get a hold on Tim’s waist, because he couldn’t stop _clenching_ them… and Tim’s skin was still a little damp and slick, and Bernard really wanted to ask before he just ripped the damned towel away and dropped to his knees, but that was going to be kind of difficult, because Tim was apparently going to be done mauling Bernard’s mouth sometime like never.

So Bernard just whimpered a little and hoped that somehow translated to ‘air, please’ and also ‘don’t you fucking stop kissing me.’

It was probably a moot point, though, the way Tim’s hips were rocking against his thigh. Even boy scout knots couldn’t stand up to that kind of motion. All Bernard could really do was tug at Tim’s hips to try and bring him into better contact with his own, but Tim was resisting. Tim was--

Tim was letting go of Bernard’s arm in order to get his hand down Bernard’s pants. Tim’s pants. Oh, he was -- he was getting into Tim’s pants while he was _wearing_ Tim’s pants, and in about five seconds he was going to be _coming_ in Tim’s pants.

Tim pulled his mouth away from Bernard’s as he jacked him. His lips were flushed pink and glistening, and his eyes were dark and wild. The slide and squeeze of his hand was so damned _perfect_ on Bernard’s cock… Tim licked the side of Bernard’s throat, then sunk his teeth in and sucked, hard.

“Fuck, Tim,” Bernard panted.

The hand that had been pinning Bernard’s other arm clapped over his mouth. “Shh,” Tim hissed through gritted teeth. Right, parents. Bernard was just happy Tim hadn’t stopped jerking him off to remind him, even if he was having trouble getting quite enough air. He licked Tim’s palm and tasted bitter antiseptic.

Fuck asking, at this point. Bernard gave the towel a good hard yank, and let it fall to the floor.

Tim’s ass felt as good as it looked. Better. His cleft was hot, and damp from sweat and the shower. When Bernard’s fingertips brushed his hole, Tim grunted and jerked him hard.

Bernard was really rather grateful that his mouth was covered. Otherwise, he probably would have said something very stupid when he came all over Tim’s hand. As it was, he was just dizzy from lack of oxygen, and decidedly weak in the knees. When the stars receded and he could think again, he turned his head until he could catch two of Tim’s fingers in his mouth, and took them in to rest on his tongue. Tim was -- mm, yeah, staring at his mouth. Bernard took the fingers a little deeper and _sucked_.

And he’d wanted to hear Tim ask, but Tim didn’t really seem capable of speech, so Bernard just grinned and let Tim’s fingers slip out of his mouth as he slid down the wall to the floor. He just knelt there for a moment, grinning up at Tim’s shocky face, until Tim’s fingertips came up to rest on his cheek, damp and slightly sticky. That was all the permission Bernard needed to catch the points of Tim’s hips in his hands and tug him forward.

Tim’s cock was shorter and thicker than what he’d imagined, cut and flushed a gorgeous pink. His balls were hot and heavy and fit just _right_ in Bernard’s hand when he tested their weight. Tim made a sound, hardly more than a breath, when Bernard squeezed them gently. He made the sound again when Bernard pressed his face into the hair at the base of Tim’s cock and just breathed. God he smelled good. The clean, warm scent of him was making Bernard’s mouth water. He wanted to _taste_.

He wrapped his hand around the base of Tim’s cock and licked the pearly sheen from the tip. And then he just…closed his eyes and tasted it, a little bitter, a little salt, and everything the smell had promised.

Tim’s fingers spasmed against Bernard’s cheek when Bernard took the head into his mouth and cradled it on his tongue. He made that noise again, and Bernard decided it was his god-given responsibility to make him make that sound as often as possible. He moaned and took Tim deeper, bringing his tongue into play and sucking just as much as he wanted to.

He wasn’t expecting Tim to thrust quite so hard, quite so soon, but he was definitely willing to go with it. He managed to only choke a little before he could get the angle and the motion right, kissing his fist on every downstroke. He felt Tim’s hands in his hair -- not pulling, but just tangling there and holding. He moaned again when he felt Tim’s grip tighten, heard that little hitch in Tim’s breathing again, and then--

\--and then he was coughing and trying to swallow, because Tim’s orgasm had come out of _nowhere_. He hadn’t made any noise, beyond that catch in breath. He still wasn’t making any noise. Bernard couldn’t even hear him _breathing_.

“Just, you know, general blowjob etiquette,” Bernard said, hoarsely, when he had his breath back, “ _warn_ a guy.” He grinned and looked up -- and stopped grinning, because Tim looked...

Tim looked all wrong for a guy who had just been blown. There were tears in his eyes and _blood_ on his teeth and his face was all... Bernard didn’t know a word for it.

“Sorry,” Tim said thickly, then cleared his throat. He stared down at Bernard for a few seconds, and then winced and jerked around like he couldn’t bear to look at him. “I didn’t mean to be so..." He winced again. "Please get off the floor.” He tugged Bernard up until he was standing, but he kept looking down and away. “I didn’t mean for that to happen at all.”

“Hey--“ Bernard protested, because it wasn’t like he’d _minded_.

“No--“ Tim said, cutting him off. “Really, Bernard. This wasn’t-- I mean. I like you, and you're very attractive, but--“

But. Cue heterosexual freak-out.

Tim picked up his towel, and his shorts, and Bernard was proud of the way his eyes stayed on Tim’s down-turned face. Not that Tim noticed, of course.

“This was a mistake,” Tim said, quietly.

No, this wasn’t a heterosexual freak-out. Bernard had seen _plenty_ of heterosexual freak-outs. This was... “Is this about Darla?” Bernard asked. He tried to put his hand on Tim’s arm, but Tim jerked away like he’d been burned. The movement made Bernard wince back, too.

“I should probably say yes,” Tim said, bitter humor in his voice. He put the shorts into a basket by the toilet, and wrapped the towel back around his waist. “That would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”

“Grief makes people act a little funny, sometimes,” Bernard said, softly.

Tim’s hands came up to cover his face, and his shoulders started shaking. It took Bernard a little while to realize he was laughing. Bernard bit his lip.

“A person can get used to a lot of things,” Tim said quietly, his voice muffled by his hands. “I guess death isn’t one of them.”

Bernard’s heart seized. “God, how could it be?”

Tim tipped his head back and let his hands drop. He was smiling. "Acclimatization by persistent exposure?"

Bernard was too horrified to try to fill the silence.

“I’m going to grab a nap,” Tim said, after a while. “The bed’s big. The couch is pretty comfortable, too. It’s up to you.”

Invitation, but no pressure? Hospitality plus a request for space? As usual, Bernard had no idea how to read Tim.

“You might want another shower first, though.”

Because...yeah. When Bernard glanced at himself in the mirror, he looked very much like someone who had just had kind of rough sex against the bathroom door. He was pretty sure there was come in his hair. He sighed and unfastened his jeans. “You could...” join me, he was going to say, but Tim was shaking his head.

“You should probably take the couch,” Tim suggested. “I would just wake you up, when I leave.”

Bernard froze with his pants around his knees. “Leave? Where are you going?”

Tim opened the door a little and eased out into the hall. “My...friend. Her mother doesn’t know...” He sighed. “I have apologies to make.” He shut the door. Bernard was alone.

He stepped into the shower. The tub was still wet. The clock on Tim’s shower radio claimed it hadn’t quite been half an hour since the last time he’d stood here. 

The water wasn’t quite as hot as it had been, but it was still warm. Bernard washed his hair again, and then he just stood there, eyes shut against the spray.

Tim’s friend. A female friend. Was he talking about the not-so-imaginary girlfriend? What, if anything, did she have to do with Tim running around and all hours and being turned into hamburger? And how serious was Tim about her? Did Bernard have any kind of chance?

Bernard frowned and shut off the water. He wasn’t sure, now, how much he wanted that chance. Yeah, he liked Tim, and the boy was about the hottest thing Bernard had ever seen, but...

He’d known that Tim was kind of weird. Mysterious. It had been attractive, in the abstract. But now, he was seriously starting to think that Tim might be mixed up in something dangerous. Maybe illegal. And that possibly Tim was crazy. And liked his sex a little rough.

There was a pair of pajamas sitting on the back of the toilet when he got out of the shower. Tim had come and gone, then, without Bernard even realizing it. 

Bernard was sighing an awful lot, today. Usually the depression had the decency to wait until the morning after. Then again, he’d never had sex at eight in the morning, before.

There were a pillow and a neatly folded blanket lying on the couch, when Bernard checked the living room. Tim’s door was open a crack, though. Bernard slipped in.

Tim was lying on his stomach, half under the covers, face turned toward the wall. The heavy curtains were shut, but there was a sliver of light across his shoulders, gilding his scars like a bas-relief. He was holding something dark in his hand. When Bernard opened the door, he slid it under his pillow. The covers were pulled back on one side of the bed. Bernard sat down on the edge. When Tim didn’t say anything, Bernard laid down next to him. He rested his hand at the small of Tim’s back. 

The pillow was wet. Bernard didn’t think Tim had been drooling. 

Bernard closed his eyes and pressed his face to Tim’s hair. He sighed again, and then just breathed in the scent of him.

Crazy. Criminal. Dangerous. Taken. And Bernard was still in love. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for the [How Tim Lost His Virginity](http://darthbatgirl.livejournal.com/75734.html) Challenge. 
> 
> Title comes from D.H. Lawrence’s [Hymn to Priapus](http://www.readbookonline.net/readOnLine/10974/), which is long, so here’s the most relevant bit:
> 
>  
> 
> _I, who am worn and careful,_  
>  __  
>  _How much do I care?_  
>  _How is it I grin then, and chuckle_  
>  _Over despair?_
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> _Grief, grief, I suppose and sufficient_  
>  _Grief makes us free_  
>  _To be faithless and faithful together_  
>  _As we have to be._


End file.
